


Love Is An Obstacle Course

by kopperblaze



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: AU, Community: bandombigbang, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-09
Updated: 2011-09-09
Packaged: 2017-10-23 13:58:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/251079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kopperblaze/pseuds/kopperblaze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For high school drop-out Frank Iero joining the Army is his last chance for an education and a career. Trying to settle into his new life, Frank discovers that some obstacles are more difficult to overcome than others. In core training he finds himself surrounded by strange people and at the mercy of a demanding schedule of coursework and physical training he's not sure he's going to survive.</p><p>As if that isn't enough, Frank has to desperately quash his growing attraction to his friendly yet enigmatic supervisor, Corporal Pedicone. As Frank progresses with his training, he begins to think maybe the attraction isn't so one-sided after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Is An Obstacle Course

**Author's Note:**

> This was written before the news of Pedicone came out.
> 
> A huge thank you to were_duck for betaing and cheerleading. Without you I could've never finished this!

The uniform still feels starched and strange against his skin and the leather boots are far too stiff. They make weird squeaking noises on the floor with every step he takes. Frank runs his hand over his newly-shaven head and looks around. Fuck. All the doors are painted an ugly, olive color, and some of them are propped open. Fuck getting separated from the rest of the recruits just because he stepped out for two fucking minutes to go to the bathroom.

"Recruit."

Frank whirls around and barely manages to fumble a salute when he's faced with a stocky, grumpy looking guy. He still hasn't memorized the ranks, so the badge on the guy's uniform doesn't tell Frank a damn thing.

"Are you looking for something, recruit?"

"Uh. Yes." Frank stutters out, arm dropping down. "I'm looking for," Fuck, he can't remember the guy's rank. "Mister Way?"

"You mean Corporal Way?" The man's eyes narrow and he emphasizes the title just a little too much. It's Frank's first day, he thinks he deserves some leeway.

"Yes, sir." Frank grits out. He's never dealt too well with authority and situations like this make him question why he joined the military. Then he remembers that they are paying for him to graduate high school, and offer him an actual career. Turns out dropping out of school at the age of sixteen to chase the dream of becoming a rockstar is not a smart thing to do.

"Down the corridor, last door to the right. And recruit?"

Frank raises his eyebrow and swallows down the retort trying to claw its way out of his throat.

"You should take a closer look at the uniform guidelines." He cast a disapproving glance at Frank's uniform before walking off, leaving Frank to glare daggers at his back. Fuck him, Frank has tried his best.

Frank turns and stalks down the corridor. The name plate states "CPL Michael Way" and the door stands open. The entire room is full of technical equipment and behind the desk a guy with glasses lounges in an office chair. Another guy with blond hair is perched on the edge of the desk, his back to the door.

"- and so he's calling me five fucking times, rambling about the phone not working. And I do all the checks, you know, line checks and it's all fine, his fucking phone should work. But it doesn't, so I go up there to have a look and the motherfucking cable is pulled out. He doesn't have the presence of mind to check and see if the phone is plugged in before harassing me all morning."

Guy-in-glasses nods his head in sympathy. "Dude, always tell them to check the cables before you do any work."

Neither of them acknowledges Frank, so he awkwardly knocks on the door. Glasses Guy--who's most likely Michael Way unless he's hijacked the office-- swivels around in his chair and narrows his eyes at Frank.

"Yes?"

Blond guy has turned to look at Frank over his shoulder as well and Frank shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Neither of them looks exactly friendly.

"I'm here to get my ID?"

Way purses his lips but nods and gestures at the chair in front of the desk. "Have a seat."

Frank edges into the room and sits down quickly. He hates feeling so insecure. He's twenty and he's been driving through the country in a fucking van, taking care of himself and standing his ground in more than a few bar fights. He shouldn't feel intimidated by these people.

"I'll leave you to it. See you at dinner." Blond guy gets up and grabs his cap, nodding at Frank before he leaves the room. Way intently stares at the computer screen and types rapidly, completely ignoring that Frank's there.

"Name?"

Frank is startled by the sudden question and his voice comes out all squeaky. "Frank Iero."

Way types something, then looks up and raises an eyebrow. "How do you spell that?"

"I-E-R-O," Frank spells out for him, glad that his voice has returned to normal. He hates first days at a new job. Only, this isn't a job stocking shelves at a supermarket or working the cash register at a petrol station. It's kind of scary, knowing that he really shouldn't mess up because he's in for the long run. Hopefully.

"DOB?"

"31 October 1990."

Way types again, then nods when he presumably finds Frank's record. "There you are." He clicks rapidly, then points Frank to a chair in the corner of the room in front of a camera on a tripod. Frank shuffles over and sits down, trying not to frown. He hates nothing more than taking ID pictures.

Way steps up behind the camera and turns it on, squinting at the display. "Okay, ready?"

After he's taken the picture Way returns to click around on his computer and five minutes later a printer comes to life.

"All right. I need you to sign the card and the confirmation that you got it. Don't lose it, it's your key for the entrance doors as well. If you're experiencing any glitches with it, come by and we'll reset it."

Way pushes the card and a water-resistant marker across the table at Frank and gets the form Frank needs to sign as well.

Frank messily scrawls his signature on the paper before he hands it back, then signs the card. When he turns it around to see the front he cringes. It's not a flattering picture.

"Thank you. Do I need anything else?" Frank asks as he stands up and puts the card in the breast pocket of his uniform.

"I don't know if you need anything else," Way replies, eyebrows raised in amusement. "But your ID is done, if that's what you mean."

"Um. Yeah. That's. Thanks." Frank rubs the back of his neck. Fuck, he keeps messing up today. "Could you tell me how to get to the infirmary?" Better ask for directions before he ends up going the wrong way.

"Infirmary? When you leave the building you turn right, then walk straight ahead. Can't miss it, it's somewhere on the right."

It's not the most detailed description Frank's ever gotten, but it'll have to do. "Thank you." He leaves, unsure if he should've saluted or not. Who would've expected military greeting to be this complicated?

~

The infirmary is down the road and Way was right, you really can't miss it. It's got a huge, red cross over the entrance, 'Medic Center' spelled out under it for anyone who's not clued in yet. Inside it's almost like a hospital, right down to the smell. Frank pulls a face.

"I'm here for my check-up."

The woman at the reception desk looks bored, glances at his name tag and checks his name on a list.

"Have a seat."

Frank nods and sits down in a free chair in the waiting area. At least he's back with the other recruits (even though he's with the wrong group because he can't remember having seen any of these people before) but since the health check is the last thing that needs to be done today it's not like it matters much.

People get called in and Frank taps his foot against the floor as he waits. Eventually he hears "Iero, Frank?" and gets up, following a guy in white to one of the examination rooms.

"Hi, I'm Doctor Toro, but honestly I'd prefer it if you called me Ray." Finally someone who doesn't seem quite so stuck up about titles. Frank shakes Ray's hand before he sits down, staring at the thick folder Ray is looking through.

"So, Frank. Your records are quite impressive." Ray glances up.

"Yeah, I know." Frank worries his bottom lip between his teeth. He misses his lipring. "I've been doing a lot better lately though."

Ray continues to look through the files, humming every now and then. "All right." He closes the folder. "We'll do a standard check and you should be good to go."

The examination is over quickly enough. Ray takes Frank's measurements and weight, blood pressure, listens to his heart and lungs and makes a few notes while Frank puts his shoes and shirt back on.

"Have you decided what you're going to do after core training?"

Frank shakes his head. "No, not yet. I'm doing the graduation program. But after that, I don't know. Going abroad, maybe?" Getting stationed abroad pays a lot and it sounds like an adventure.

"I see." Ray purses his lips. "Well, we can talk about that closer to the time. I'm not entirely happy with the way your lungs sound. You're a smoker?"

Frank nods resignedly, already knowing what's going to follow.

"Right." Ray makes another note and Frank narrows his brows.

"What? You not gonna give me 'the talk'?" He asks, complete with air quotation marks.

Ray shakes his head and flashes Frank a grin. "Nope. Give it two months and you'll have given up on your own, trust me."

Frank isn't so sure about that, but doesn't mention it.

"Well, we're done here. See how you do in your training sessions and if your lungs are giving you trouble we'll see what we can do."

"Right, thanks." Frank doesn't want any special treatment, so he sure as hell won't be back anytime soon. He says goodbye (not saluting this time, because technically Ray is a civilian, right? Then again he might have military rank and fuck, this is too fucking complicated) and leaves the medic centre, trying to find the way back to the barracks.

Unit 5, Frank's assigned barrack, is swarming with new recruits trying to get together everything they need. Frank loiters around outside and watches while he smokes, rolling his shoulders and trying to relax. Today was easy. Tomorrow is going to be a lot harder.

Frank stubs out his cigarette and goes inside. He's still got time to call his mum before making sure everything is in order for tomorrow morning and calling it an early night. A 5AM wake-up call doesn't sound like fun; he's going to need all the sleep he can get.

~

They actually play the Reveille in the morning to wake them up and it's like something out of a fucking movie. Frank's eyes fly open and he stares at the ceiling for a few seconds before he bites down on his bottom lip, trying not to laugh. What is his life?

It's easier than expected to roll out of bed because he's running on adrenaline, but Frank can tell that it's going to get really old, really fast.

Washing and putting his uniform on feels rushed and clumsy. It's all new movements that haven't become routine yet and Frank's surprised when he manages to get fully dressed. It feels like he should still be stumbling around with only half his clothes on and toothbrush in his mouth.

They all stand around in the room a little lost, not entirely sure what to do. They've been told last night that there would be room inspection but are they supposed to wait here or go downstairs?

The decision is taken from them when the door flies open and a man storms in. He's not much taller than Frank, but he gives the impression of a looming giant. Frank totally needs to learn how to do that.

Looking at the man's impeccable sports uniform Frank feels like a rumpled hobo who stumbled in from the streets. This dude certainly studied the rules, learned them by heart and swallowed the guide to really internalize them. His clear, blue eyes scan the room and there's something sharp about them that makes Frank's stomach turn. The displeased line of the man's lips isn't helping with the feeling of impending doom.

Hands behind his back the man walks around the room, stopping in front of a recruit who's already looking decidedly nervous and guilty.

"Crawford."

It's curt and sharp and Frank feels epically bad for the other guy, who's standing a lot straighter all of a sudden.

"Yes, Staff Sergeant Schechter, sir?"

"You're here for the second time, Crawford, correct?"

"Correct, sir." Crawford looks like he's praying to all the gods above to smite him or send aliens to abduct him.

"In that case, shouldn't you be familiar with the daily routines?"

"Yes, sir."

"And shouldn't you be able to help your colleagues in following those routines?"

"Yes, sir." Crawford sounds like he wants to be whispering, but doesn't quite dare to.

"Then why do I come into the room and find the recruits standing around like lost cows?" Schechter's voice rises at the end of the sentence. Frank hopes that if aliens show up to abduct Crawford, they'll take him with them as well.

"I. . . I don't know, sir."

"You don't know." Schechter repeats, eyebrow arched. He turns without another word and it's more disconcerting than yelling would've been. "Downstairs in two, recruits."

Everyone remains frozen to the spot for a few seconds after Schechter leaves the room before there is a flurry of movement, everyone hurrying downstairs. Other recruits are already down there standing in formation, and their room manages to scramble into something resembling an ordered line. Frank ends up standing next to Crawford, who looks like he's completely forgotten about the incident already. Frank doesn't think that he could get over something like that so easily.

Crawford catches Frank looking at him and grins, turning his head. "Hi, I'm Ian."

"Frank." They don't shake hands, already in rest position.

"Man, that was a little harsh for the first day, huh?" Frank asks, unable to keep from wiping back and forth slightly. He doesn't do standing still very well.

"Eh," Ian shrugs, apparently not too impressed despite how nervous he had appeared when faced with Schechter's glare. "Schechter's all right, really. His bark is worse than his bite. He's a pretty cool dude, actually."

Frank blinks at Ian. Apparently repeating core training gives you a thick enough skin to shake off incidents like that. Before he gets a chance to say something, Staff Sergeant Schechter comes out of the building after the last group of recruits, who slowly take formation. He moves to stand in front of the group, waiting patiently until everyone stops talking and fidgeting and everyone's attention is on him. It's eerie and Frank wishes he'd start yelling already, so they could get it over with.

Even after everything is quiet Schechter takes his time, moving up and down the line and looking at the recruits. His face remains impassive enough that Frank can't tell if he's pleased or furious. He guesses it's the latter.

"I understand that it is the first proper day of military training for most of you," Schechter's eyes linger on Ian for a moment, "However, this isn't an excuse for the lack of discipline and order most of you have displayed. You were given a guide upon signing your contract and I trust all of you are able to read and comprehend what you read. Furthermore the basics of military life have been explained to you in the introductory course." He finally stops his pacing and comes to a stop in front of the group again. "You're not in high school anymore. There is no leeway and no excuse for not following clear instructions from day one. I expect a far better performance from now on."

Despite what he's saying Schechter seems to be letting them off lightly.

"From now on your days are going to start at the training grounds. Myself and Corporal Pedicone are going to walk you through the routines that you should have perfected by the end of core training." Schechter eyes linger on Crawford again, eyebrows narrowed.

"Fall In!" Schechter's voice changes tone and pitch, going loud and sharp. Frank scrambles to change from resting position to attention, thinking that all of this is a lot easier in theory.

"Quick march!"

Staying in formation while jogging isn't the easiest thing in the world, but the recruits manage to arrive at the training grounds in something resembling an ordered form. They've barely come to a stop when Schechter barks out the next command. "Twenty laps on the track, except for Room Three. You're doing thirty. Thank Recruit Crawford for that."

A few heads turn to look at Ian, who smiles sheepishly.

"Well, what are you waiting for?"

Frank stumbles along when everyone starts moving, too closely together at first but eventually spreading out more on the track. The first few laps are not a problem and Frank feels on top of his game. He can totally do this. By the time they are starting round fifteen, though, Frank's lungs start feeling a little tight and by round twenty his side is aching. All the other rooms leave the track and stand on the grass in the middle where Schechter is talking with someone, both men following the process of the recruits.

Frank's legs are starting to feel like they're filled with lead and he's gradually slowing down. His breathing is too loud in his own ears and his side stings with every breath he takes. Fucking hell.

By round twenty-six Frank isn't so sure if he can do thirty rounds. By twenty-seven he swears to never smoke a single cigarette again. Twenty-nine and his feet are falling off.

In the end, Frank is the second to last to finish. He leans forward, hands on his trembling thighs, and tries to coax his lungs into taking in air again instead of spasming in his chest.

The relief of managing thirty laps only lasts for a few seconds because Schechter commands them to fall in again. Frank's chest is heaving and his attempts to breathe quietly are not very successful.

"Now that we're done with the warm up-" Frank winces, "- Corporal Pedicone is going to explain the obstacle course to you. This is what you'll be doing as part of your final examination, so I'd suggest you play close attention."

Corporal Pedicone is taller than Sergeant Schechter (not that it takes much) and less wiry. Instead of looking constantly pissed off he seems amused, the corners of his lips twitching.

"What you see over there is the obstacle course. Some of you will find it relatively easy, for others it'll be the bane of your existence. I'm sure Recruit Crawford can tell you many amusing stories about his particular struggles with some obstacles." Pedicone grins at Ian. "You should all ask him about the time he stumbled and fell into the wire-mesh fence."

Frank glances over at Ian, who looks like he really wants to facepalm. He's so definitely going to make Ian tell him that story.

"Anyway, the goal of the obstacle course is to train your physical abilities. It may seem like a redundant thing to do here, but trust me, if you're stationed abroad or part of a military team working in crisis intervention, you'll be thankful for it."

He then leads them through the obstacle course, explaining what they have to do at each of the obstacles and what the best technique is. It all seems like a lot of jumping and climbing to Frank and Pedicone makes it look ridiculously easy. Frank suspects that if he were taller and had Pedicone's muscles, he'd treat this like a playground too.

"- and essentially, that's it," Pedicone states when they reach the end of the course. "So much for the theory. Your turn now."

Frank can't help bouncing on the balls of his feet as they walk back and line up at the start. He thinks he remembers what to do everywhere, but as Pedicone said, that's the theory. Frank isn't so sure how he's going to do in an actual run-through. He's not ready at all when Schechter yells "Go!" and the first recruit starts into the course. As soon as he's past the first hurdle Schechter sends the next recruit in. Before Frank knows it there are only two people in front of him. He flexes his fingers, hopping from one foot to the other. He's more nervous than he should be, stomach rolling with anticipation. Within the blink of an eye Frank is at the front of the queue and almost trips over his own feet when Schechter waves him in.

Frank feels like he's shaking all over and doesn't have his body under control at all as he stumbles his way over the hurdles. They are not too difficult because they're not high, giving Frank back a bit of his confidence. Next is crawling under low rails and wires, and Frank does that well too because he's tiny. When he gets out from the under the wires he feels steadier on his feet.

Balancing on the logs is a little more difficult than it looked, but Frank manages without falling off, which he counts as a win. Nobody said he wasn't allowed to flail. The vaulting obstacles aren't too high either, and Frank feels like he takes them in a stride. By the time he reaches the cargo net he's positive that he can do this. Maybe you don't have to be built like Pedicone to treat this thing as a playground.

The cargo net is tricky because it gives in easily. Frank concentrates on not getting his feet tangled and makes it up to the platform in the end. Jumping down from it is less scary than it should have been. Frank blames the adrenaline.

Next is a wall that he needs to jump over and Frank looks at it worriedly for a second before he starts running. It's not like he has a choice. Jumping up with all his strength he manages to grab the edge of the wall, attempting to pull himself up. The angle is wrong and his arms feel too weak. Frank lets go and lands back on the ground.

"You have to push yourself up with more strength right away and try and get your leg on the wall sideways."

Frank's head snaps to the side. He hasn't even noticed Schechter next to the obstacle, watching the recruits. Apparently everyone has started now. He nods and goes a few steps back to try again. His legs want to slow down when he gets close to the wall, but Frank forces himself to keep running, briefly bending his legs and then pushing up with all the strength he can muster in front of the wall. His grip is more secure this time and grits his teeth as he struggles upward. Frank swings his leg upwards, body twisting sideways. He reaches the wall but slides right back off.

"Fuck." Frank digs his thumb into the palm of the other hand, rubbing where the rough brick wall scratched at the skin.

"Better. Try again."

Frank goes back and runs again, jumps, swings his leg and this time he manages to hook his foot over the wall. He's fairly sure that he just demonstrated the clumsiest way to make it over the wall, rolling over it and tumbling down on the other side in a heap. He's over the damn thing and that's all that counts. His arms hurt from the effort and when Frank discovers that the monkey bars are next he groans.

Out of the entire course maybe three or four obstacles are really difficult to overcome. The rest are fairly easy, but Frank understands now that it isn't about how difficult to pass they are but the strain they put on your body in combination. Crawling over the wall took all the strength he had in his arms. Hanging from the monkey bars his arms are shaking, almost giving in as he makes his way forward painfully slow. He's grateful to discover that next he has to jump over a ditch. Frank's legs still feel fine, whereas his arms feel like they're only hanging on his body by a single thread, ready to snap off.

Frank makes it through the jumping and dodging obstacles, hoping that the last two obstacles he'll have to make it through are going to be easy ones. He should've known that the course was built to save the best until the end.

Frank almost thinks that he only has to make it up the giant steps and jump down on the other side to be done, when he notices the hole in the ground. It's square with smooth walls and the recruit in front of Frank is struggling to get out of it. Corporal Pedicone is standing next to it, watching the process. Eventually the recruit makes it out and scrambles to his feet, running for the last obstacle. Frank gulps. The trench is wide enough that he can't jump over it, so there is no avoiding jumping into it.

At the edge of the obstacle Frank slows down, then jumps in and lands hard. His knees protest and Frank stands still for a few seconds. It's terrible inside the trench. He can see the sky above, Pedicone looking down at him, but around him there are dark walls. It feels a little like a prison cell in the ground.

There is not a lot of room, so Frank can't run and attempt to get out in the same way he made it over the wall earlier.

"Go right back to the back wall, take two running steps forward. Bend your knees properly before you jump, catapult yourself upwards. If you can manage to get up high enough that you're not just grabbing the edge but have your elbows up there you're as good as out." The instructions come from above and Frank feels a little like flipping Pedicone off. Clearly this obstacle has been built for tall people, not Frank-sized people.

Taking a step back Frank exhales slowly, focusing and gathering all the strength he can muster. Two fast steps forward and he jumps, the tips of his fingers grappling at the edge of the hole but not finding any leverage. Frank's hands slide down the wall.

Fuck, he wasn't even close to getting out.

"Push out more from the knees."

Frank swipes the back of his hand over his mouth and steps back, trying again. And again. And again.

A few times he gets a hold of the edge, but never enough to pull himself up. Frank's starting to get incredibly frustrated and just a little panicked. He's in a fucking hole in the ground and he can't get out. It's a scenario that has nightmare potential. Not to mention that the recruits that were behind him are already peering over the edge. He's holding everything up and Frank can just imagine everyone watching.

Frank's frustration doesn't help matters at all and he's ready to start kicking the fucking wall.

"Stop!"

Awesome, Schechter is yelling again and Frank's pretty sure that he'll get ridiculed in front of everyone now. Time to start looking at things from a positive angle. In here he at least can't see the others laughing at him.

"Do you think this course is a competition?!" Schechter asks, not even waiting for an answer. "Because it is not. It's about training your physical abilities, simulating situations that you can only hope you'll never find yourself in. Imagine you're hiding from the enemy, navigating a forest. One of your comrades gets stuck. Are you all going to stop and stand around like gossiping schoolgirls?"

He doesn't get an answer, which seems answer enough. "Exactly. Either see that you move forward and ensure your own safety, or help your comrade out."

There's silence again, but then after a few seconds one of the recruits jumps into the trench.

"That's what I'm talking about, Recruit Urie. Everyone, move!"

Recruit Urie is barely taller than Frank and looks like the kind of guy that randomly has his cheeks pinched by old ladies because he's cute.

"I'm gonna give you a boost."

Frank nods but doesn't look at the guy. With Urie's help Frank makes it out of the trench. His face is burning hot with shame and he wants to hide in a dark corner where nobody can see him. It feels like everyone is looking at him and pointing and fuck. It's a mortifying feeling, knowing that he's apparently the only one who didn't master the trench.

Frank stumbles his way up the steps of the last obstacle on autopilot, jumps down and looks at the ground as he joins the group of recruits. His legs hurt and his arms tremble and Frank can only hope that Schechter and Pedicone won't have them go through the obstacle course again.

"Most of you may think now that they did all right." Schechter and Pedicone join the group when the last recruit is through the course. "But mastering the obstacles doesn't mean that you did well," Schechter continues. "We weren't timing you today, but all of you, without exception, would've been too slow to pass the final examination."

"It's been your first run-through, so that's to be expected," Pedicone steps in. He seems to be in a constant state of amusement over Schechter. "You'll be going through this every day, and I suggest that you work on the obstacles that give you trouble in your free time as well." His eyes linger on Frank, who feels himself flushing hot with embarrassment. "While Staff Sergeant Schechter is right that in a critical situations you help your comrades out, in the final examination you have to go through the obstacle course on your own."

Frank's officially fucked. He doesn't hear anything Pedicone says after that, his mind spinning. He has to find a way to make it out of the stupid trench on his own.

~

Frank has never been so tired in his life. Which is ironic, because he gets a full eight hours of sleep every night, which is three hours more than the average of the past five years. He can't remember the last time he went to bed at 10PM either, but lights out is strict and usually Frank is already in bed by then anyway, completely wiped out.

The early mornings have become routine and Frank manages to navigate his way through getting ready and getting his things in order without thinking too much. After that it's running, obstacle course, other exercises if Schechter and Pedicone are feeling particularly nasty. Shower, lunch break, classes, dinner, calling home, bed. It's a mundane routine and at times Frank feels like he's lost touch with reality completely, living in the bubble labeled "core training".

To make matters worse, he's still in a state of war with the trench. Frank hasn't made it out of there on his own a single time and he's getting desperate. It affects his overall performance, because all he can think about is the trench and the anticipation causes him to mess up the other obstacles. Staff Sergeant Schechter keeps criticizing his lack of focus. It's maddening. Frank knows, he fucking _knows_ that he can do it; he's done well in his first run through save for the trench. Now that one stupid obstacle hangs over him like a big cloud of doom, causing him to stumble way before he even approaches it.

It's a problem and Frank knows it, which is why he starts skipping dinner in order to train on the obstacle course on his own. If he manages to conquer the stupid trench, he knows that he can do the rest. Kind of like removing a mental block, or running through a particularly difficult part on his guitar again and again and again until it's all muscle memory.

Frank realizes that there's a crucial flaw in his plan when he's stuck inside the trench without his phone.

"Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. Fuck!" Frank runs a hand over his head, and looks up, as if a ladder will have magically appeared. How is he so goddamn stupid? They'll find him in here tomorrow morning and it is going to be the most embarrassing thing _ever_. Then again, maybe he needs to be desperate to work up the energy to get out of here?

Frank backs up against the wall before he runs and jumps. He manages to get a hold of the edge of the wall, kicking his legs and trying to pull himself up, but he already feels his fingers slipping.

"Motherfucker!" Frank kicks the wall and curses some more because it fucking _hurts_. Motherfucking stupid douchebag of a wall.

"Seen a lot during my time, but nobody's ever tried to kick their way out of there."

Frank snaps his head up and squints, only able to make out a silhouette against the rapidly darkening sky. The cherry of a cigarette gleams and God, Frank really, really wants a smoke. Predictably he's been smoking less, which he's never going to tell Ray about ever because he's not going through the 'I told you so', but right now? Right now Frank wants to sit down and smoke his way through an entire pack of cigarettes.

"Anyone know you're here?" Pedicone sits down by the trench, one leg dangling over the edge, the other perched on it. Frank considers grabbing his leg and pulling him in, or using it to climb out. Pedicone is probably going to throw him right back in, so he shakes his head with a sigh.

"Do I have to tell you how stupid that is?"

"No," Frank grits out, not caring to add any formalities. He's far too pissed to be friendly or respectful.

"Good." Pedicone takes another drag of his cigarette before he stubs it out. "Apart from your apparent lack of foresight, it's a good thing that you're doing some extra training."

Fucking hell, Frank knows that. He doesn't need Pedicone to tell him that he sucks.

Pedicone scoots forward and lands in the trench next to Frank. "I don't think you're a completely hopeless case, but you're trying too hard at this point. You gotta relax."

Frank raises an eyebrow, causing Pedicone to chuckle. "Yeah, all right, I know. Easier said. It's really not that hard though if you've got the right technique."

Frank huffs. "It's not about technique. It's about me being a midget and this thing not being built for midgets. That's the problem."

"It's not. I've known other midgets who got out of here perfectly fine. Take Schechter, he's the King of Midgets and he made it out of here." Pedicone winks and Frank stares at him, dumbfounded. Pedicone's and Schechter's dynamic is a thing of beauty on the best of days because they are polar opposites who get a kick out of harassing each other. Frank would really love to see Schechter's face if he was called King of Midgets.

"I think the problem is that you're trying to achieve too much with your arms alone. You have to work with your whole body, make up for what you're lacking in height. If you manage to get a good hold of the edge you can put your feet against the wall and push from there again, boost yourself up so you can get your elbows over the edge."

It sounds like something that might actually work, so Frank tries it. Once he's got a grip on the edge he tries to get his feet steadily against the wall. It sounds a lot easier than it is in reality.

"You have to push back more." Pedicone steps up behind him and puts his hands on Frank's hips, pulling him back a little. "Feet against the wall."

Frank pushes against the wall with the tips of his shoes to swing back a little, then scrambles to get the soles of his shoes against the wall. Eventually he manages, and he's got a better hold on the wall now, but he still feels stuck.

"Good. Now push upwards."

Pedicone's hands are still on his waist and they're kind of big and kind of warm and kind of very nice. They're also kind of very distracting and Frank really, really can't have thoughts like that.

He swallows hard and pushes against the wall with all his might, but it doesn't help much.

"No, more like you're trying to jump." Pedicone's hold tightens and his fingertips dig into Frank's sides. He'll never be able to focus like this.

Squeezing his eyes shut Frank tries to push his feet away from the wall and manages a little upward swing before his arms give out. Pedicone more or less catches Frank when he tumbles down, only he doesn't do a lot of actual tumbling because Pedicone is ridiculously strong and puts Frank down on the ground.

"That was already a lot better," he comments. Frank misses the hands on his hips when Pedicone pulls back. He's screwed. Utterly, fucking screwed.

"Wanna try again?"

"Yeah." Frank's voice comes out all croaky and he bites his bottom lip. What is he, an awkward teenager?

Pedicone steps back and gives Frank room to try on his own and Frank pushes down on the disappointment blooming in his stomach. This is about him finally making it out of the obstacle from hell, not about his dick being an inappropriate idiot.

His hands are sweaty and Frank has a hard time getting a good hold of the wall. His fingers are cramped but he holds on stubbornly, working on getting his feet under him and push up. He can almost see over the edge of the trench now and moves to get his elbows onto the edge. His sweaty fingers slide off again just when he's _this_ close to succeeding and Frank goes down again with a stream of curses. He lands on his feet and stumbles backwards, colliding with Pedicone. It's a little like falling back against a rock. If rocks were nicely built and looked good in uniforms, that is.

"Almost." Pedicone steadies Frank with a hand on his shoulder and squeezes lightly. "I think it's enough for today though. You're getting there, no point in exhausting yourself."

Frank wants to protest, because he's not going to give up until he's defeated the douchebag of a trench, but his arms are sore and someone tied bricks to all his limbs. He really should call it a night, save his energy for tomorrow and try again.

"I guess." Frank knuckles at his eyes, than glances up at the sky above. It's mostly dark now, a few stars shimmering in the sky already.

"Let's go."

"Hm?" It takes Frank a second to realize that Pedicone's stepped up next to him, hands interlinked and ready to boost him up.

"Oh. Um. Yeah. Thanks." Fuck, it doesn't get any less embarrassing. Pulling himself up after Pedicone gives him a boost Frank proves that it really is time to stop. His arms shake and he barely manages to crawl out of the fucking trench. Whoever invented that thing is hopefully suffering somewhere right now.

Once he's outside and on the grass Frank flops sideways, lying still for a few seconds before he sits up, eyes on the edge of the trench. Pedicone effortlessly makes his way out of it, even looking graceful as he pulls up. Damn him.

Frank looks away, pointedly not taking in the way Pedicone's shirt is tight around his chest, and pats down the pockets of his sweatpants. Fuck it, not only has he forgotten his phone, but his cigarettes as well.

"Need a smoke?"

Is Pedicone his fairy godmother or something? Frank takes a second to giggle at the mental image before he nods.

"Yeah, that'd be fucking amazing."

Pedicone sits down in the grass next to Frank and holds out a battered pack of cigarettes.

"Thanks." Frank's fingers feel clumsy as he pulls one of the cigarettes out of the pack, but he blames the way he fumbles for it on he fact that it is dark and the light from the street lamps only casts a dim glow on the course.

Cigarette perched between his lips, Frank waits for Pedicone to get one of his own before he reaches for a lighter and leans over to light Frank's cigarette first.

The first hit of nicotine is sweet and Frank hums softly, leans back and watches the sky as he exhales smoke through his nose. "Maybe I'm just not cut out for this," he muses, rolling the cigarette between his index finger and thumb.

"Cut out for what?" Pedicone asks, glancing over at Frank from under his hat. That man should not be allowed to wear a uniform.

"This," Frank waves his hand around, indicating the obstacle course and by a broader sense, the army. "I mean, I can't even make it through a fucking obstacle course, how shit is that?"

"More common than you think it is," Pedicone replies, taking a drag of his cigarette, making the tip glow in the dark like a firefly.

"Really?" Maybe there is hope for Frank and he isn't the worst recruit in the history of ever.

"Really," Pedicone nods and Frank thinks he can see him smiling. He can't be sure though, shadows are dancing over Pedicone's face and hiding more than half of it. "A lot of recruits have trouble at first, especially with the obstacle course. Some are not cut out for it, other's have to overcome mental blockades or work on their technique."

"Which category do I belong to?" Frank can't help asking. He looks to the side, already feeling his face growing hot, a snake coiling in his stomach. What if Pedicone says that Frank should save them all time and leave now?

"I'm not sure yet."

It's not what Frank wants to hear and he pulls a face.

"From what I've seen so far I'd say you're the latter. You're not good yet, but you're stubborn. You've got the determination it takes to become good."

Right, so that isn't all that bad, right? Frank sighs and pulls his shoulders up in a shrug. "Yeah, I guess."

They smoke in silence for a little while and Frank thinks that for the first time in weeks he feels like himself again. It's like the blurry edges of life suddenly tighten again and he's right here, in this moment, and it's strange and wildly beautiful like the times when you snap out of monotony and feel like the gray veil that's been obscuring your view has been taken away.

"Why'd you join?"

Frank takes another drag before he looks over at Pedicone, ripping blades of grass out of the ground with his free hand.

"The honest reason or the one that sounds better?" He asks with a wry smile.

"The honest one."

"I really need the money and it pays for my education." Frank rubs his nose, holding onto a sneeze. Fucking obstacle course, even the grass here makes him sneeze. "Best I could get, really."

"So it was a choice out of necessity more than out of interest?" Pedicone asks, finishing up his cigarette. He doesn't sound condescending, so Frank nods, being honest.

"I mean, I'm not unhappy. There's interesting career choices and shit, but I would've never considered joining if I had had the chance to go to college and stuff, you know? I don't think." Frank's enjoying his classes, literature in particular because Prof. Way is enthusiastic and they talk about a lot of contemporary stuff (last week he and Frank had a heated debate over the morals of Watchmen and the comic versus the movie adaption), but Frank had never considered joining the army until he had been in desperate need of a job. He's not regretting his choice – mostly. The obstacle course is forever going to be the bane of his life.

"Why'd you join?" Frank asks, stubbing the butt of his cigarette out on the concrete of the trench's wall and thinks about flinging it down there. Just as a little 'fuck you'.

"Always loved sports, but I wasn't good enough at anything in particular to become a pro. This seemed like a good alternative."

"Yeah, cause you get paid to yell at people," Frank points out, flashing a grin. "That's the sweet life."

Pedicone chuckles and it's low and rumbly and it does things to Frank that a simple sound shouldn't be doing. Like make him wonder if all the sounds Pedicone makes are all low and growly.

"Nah, I leave the yelling to Schechter. He's better at it. Think he gets a kick out of it too,"

Maybe Frank'd get a kick out of Pedicone yelling.

Fuck. He has to stop this.

"It's almost time for lights-out, you better get going." Pedicone gets to his feet and stretches, leaving Frank starring stupidly for a few seconds before he scrambles up.

"Or what?" He's saying before he can stop himself. "Gonna tell Schechter?"

This time Frank's close enough that he sees Pedicone grinning. "Nah, won't need to. He'll know. Dude's like a special agent."

Frank pulls a face. Schechter probably has sneaky spying devices installed that alert him as soon as someone doesn't behave according to the rules.

"You did a lot better today, just try not to be too tense about the trench tomorrow and you'll be fine." Pedicone pats Frank's shoulder.

"I'll try," Frank replies, then takes a step back, raising his hand in an awkward wave. "Thanks for, uh, helping me out. I really appreciate it."

"No worries," Pedicone says easily and adds "Get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning."

Frank bites back an inappropriate comment and nods, flapping his hand around in a wave again before he turns and jogs back to his barrack.

~

The next morning Frank is fucking ready. Sure, he's sore and his arms feel a little heavy, but he can do it. Today is the day, he fucking _knows_ it. Today he's going to make it out of the trench and he's going to do a victory dance. Too bad that there'll be too many people around for him to involve Pedicone in it.

Frank's twitchy all the way through warm-up and he wishes he could skip running stupid laps on the track and doing push-ups. He wants to try the trench, he wants to battle that motherfucking obstacle, and not waste his time and energy on unimportant stuff.

It's almost like Schechter knows it and made it his goal to torture Frank as much as possible. He makes them run, do push-ups and crunches and Frank's stomach muscles are protesting by the end of it because Schechter adds fifteen more because "Crawford still doesn't do them right and needs more training". Frank is starting to think that Schechter has an unhealthy obsession with Ian.

By the time they make it to the obstacle course Frank is close to pushing everyone out of the way just so he can go first. This time it isn't anxiety that has settled in his stomach, but the good kind of anticipation.

Frank's turn rolls around and he's ready, starting into the course before Schechter gives him the 'Go'. His new frame of mind seems to help things tremendously and Frank takes all the obstacles in a stride. It's like the mental block that made him fall over everything and his arms give out is gone. Seemingly within the blink of an eye he's through the course and approaching the trench. Frank has absolutely no doubt that he'll master it today.

He jumps into the trench, doesn't even stop and barrels forward, jumps, grabs the edge and gets his feet on the wall. Frank pushes up and he's almost, _almost_ there . . . but he feels his fingers slip and his thighs give out, and he's tumbling back down. Still fucking stuck.

Frank stares up in disbelief. How can he not have made it out? It was going so well. He was so _sure_. This isn't what was supposed to happen.

"C'mon man, Schechter's in a mood already."

Frank hasn't even noticed Ian jumping in next to him. How is this fair? Ian isn't much taller and he manages to get out on his own just fine. Frank is fucking sick of being the special case, the idiot everyone knows needs help. He lets Ian give him a boost though, just to make it out as quickly as possible. Frank doesn't look at Pedicone as he passes him, hoping his cheeks aren't as red as they feel.

~

The two Ways working at the academy are actually brothers. Frank has a hard time believing it at first, because they're complete opposites.  
Professor Gerard Way is teaching English and Literature and he's really enthusiastic about it, trying to get them all involved. Frank loves Gerard's classes.

Corporal Michael Way, on the other hand, has apparently been forced to do the computer basics class this year and he's not happy about it. Frank can kind of understand it. They have to do really basic stuff and while it is going to be an easily earned grade for the recruits, he can see how it has to be dead boring for Corporal Way. He doesn't talk a lot and only gives a bare minimum of instructions.

Actually, he doesn't seem to like being around people at all. At least, people who are not his brother, Ray or Bob. Frank sees the three of them getting lunch together a lot, and sometimes one of them will wait outside for Way, cup of coffee in hand. Judging by the way the Corporal grabs it, an hour with the recruits is maddening enough that all caffeine reserves have to be refilled.

The academy is almost like a family business, it seems, because Gerard's wife Lindsey is teaching math. She's pretty with dark hair and a wide lipstick smile. She and Gerard are a good match and she's nice enough that Frank isn't completely dreading his math classes. It's never been his strongest subject, but he manages to get somewhat decent grades.

"Click save, choose file format and give the file a title that makes sense."

Corporal Way pushes his glasses back up his nose where they've slipped down, not even looking up from his own computer screen while he tells them what to do in an impressive monotone. Frank thinks that companies should hire Way and have him do robot voices and public service announcements.

Frank's already saved his file and leans back, yawning and stretching. He can never decide if this class is relaxing or boring. Next to Frank, Ian is playing solitaire on his computer.

"I presume all of you know how to create a database with Access?"

Way looks up from his screen and his lips purse when numerous people shake their heads. Apparently not knowing how to create a database is a crime against humanity and, worse, against geekdom itself. Turning on the projector Way clicks rapidly on his screen as he demonstrates how to open and fill a database, before going into simple user interface design. He sounds incredibly put upon.

Frank doesn't even bother following the instructions. There's no internet on the computers, so he stares out of the window instead. It's a dreary day and he'd rather curl up in his bed than going on the obstacle course again later. It's bugging him though, the way he didn't make it out of the trench once again. Frank feels like there's a giant clock ticking over his head and with every minute that passes panic scratches more persistently at the back of his mind. If he doesn't make the trench, well. He might as well go home.

Bryar and Ray walk past and Frank leans over in his chair so he can see the entrance. They stop there and Bryar lights up a cigarette. Somewhere Schechter is having an eyelid spasm because Frank knows for a fact that smoking in front of the buildings is not permitted. Frank thinks that if he was as badass as Bryar he wouldn't give a damn either. Rumor is that Bryar was one of the best pilots and even got to fly a Black Hawk. Nobody knows why he's working in telecommunications now and Frank isn't too inclined to believe the wild stories about plane crashes and Bryar getting shot in the arm by another pilot who went all psycho years back. It sure keeps an air of mysteriousness around him though. Frank's looking forward to having him as an instructor. Not that he's terribly interested in telecommunication, but it's going to be interesting to see the man teach a class. He'll have to form full sentences and so far Frank's only heard him give gruff, one-worded replies.

Ray seems to be telling a story that requires him to wave his hands around a lot, which does interesting things to his hair. Frank's only seen him in uniform once, most of the time Ray's wearing his white infirmary clothes. Frank catches the glimpse of a smile as Bryar takes another drag from his cigarette. Interesting.

"Iero, if you wanted to sort the results in alphabetical order, how'd you go about it?"

Frank's eyes dart back to the front of the class and he's suddenly painfully aware of how far he's shifted to the edge of his chair. Way is looking at him with one eyebrow raised. It's irritatingly intimidating.

"Um." Frank glances at the projection of the screen on the wall but it doesn't clue him in as to what exactly it is they are doing. "I'd click the . . . arrow thing?" He tries, vaguely pointing at the screen. Judging by the way Way's lips twist it was the wrong answer.

"You click the arrow thing, right. This is not a class that focuses on observing nature, so if all you're going to do is stare out of the window, you should leave and do that somewhere else."

Frank feels like his eyes have grown to double their size. Did Way just call him out when it's obvious that he's bored of his own class? Besides, who would've guessed that he could get snappy like that? Usually he's quiet and rather awkward.

"I'm sorry," Frank mutters, staring at his computer screen and kicking Ian under the table when he snickers. Way looks at him for a moment longer, making Frank feel like a bug under a microscope, before he looks back at the computer screen and continues his droning explanations.

Frank wrinkles his nose and looks back at his own computer, randomly clicking around with a little more force than is strictly necessary. This class can't be over quickly enough.

~

Dragging his feet back to the barracks he knuckles tiredly at his eyes. Ian and Brendon are making plans for the evening, excitedly talking about the bootleg of Harry Potter Ian got his hands on. Frank's jealous. He wants to spend the evening in front of the TV too. Plus, he's been really excited about the new Potter movie, but it's not like he can leave the barracks and go to the cinema.

"Hey Frank, you in?" Ian asks and part of Frank is tempted to say yes. He could just leave it be for one night, sit back and relax and go back to training tomorrow. The stupidly responsible voice in the back of his mind (which sounds disconcertingly like Schechter) reminds him that he really needs to get the hang of the obstacle course.

"Nah, I can't," Frank shakes his head and kicks a pebble out of the way. Fuck being responsible, it's no fucking fun.

"Aw, man, that's a shame. But you're coming with us this Saturday, right?" Ian asks.

"What's Saturday?"

"Just a few of us going down to the pub. They're showing the soccer game and it's always fun because everyone who's working the weekend shift is gonna be there too. Schechter's intense about soccer."

Frank's eyebrow twitches up. Maybe this fascination is not entirely one-sided.

"Sure, I guess." By Saturday he's hopefully going to have made enough progress that he doesn't need more extra training.

"Awesome." Ian and Brendon go back to making plans for the night and Frank shuffles along to their room, hands in the pockets of his uniform trousers. He changes into his sports clothes and mutters a quick goodbye, leaving Ian and Brendon to harass Alex into going out and buying booze.

Frank jogs the way to the obstacle course as a form of warm up and to loosen his muscles after hours spent in the classroom. He's trying to be relaxed about this, but the trench has become this looming thing in the distance and the closer Frank gets the bigger the knot in his stomach becomes.

He walks past the other obstacles, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. All he can do is try and improve the technique Pedicone showed him, really.

"Here again?"

Frank almost falls over his own feet as he turns around far too quickly. He hadn't noticed Pedicone sitting on one of the balancing poles, smoking.

"Do you live here or what?" Frank asks. He's in a mood and he knows it, yet he can't help it.

"Sometimes," Pedicone shrugs Frank's attitude of easily. "Back to the trench then. You almost made it this morning."

"Almost isn't good enough though," Frank grumbles and stares at the trench with obvious distaste.

"No, but it means you're getting there." Pedicone points out, getting up from the pole and throwing his cigarette butt away. Schechter must be having a lot of eyelid spasms today. "Let's get going."

Frank stares at Pedicone for a few seconds, until things click into place.

"You're helping me?"

Pedicone looks at Frank, the 'duh' is clear in his expression.

"Um, okay," Frank mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck and biting down on a grin with all his might. Pedicone hung around just to help him? That's several kinds of awesome.

Frank jumps into the trench and squints up. Is it just him or is the wall even higher today?

"Don't think so much about it," Pedicone says from above, sitting on the edge of the trench.

"It's kinda hard not to," Frank admits, then takes a step back. He inhales and exhales, once, twice, then steps forward quickly and jumps. Getting his feet against the wall works well by now, but from there it still feels like he's neither moving forward nor backward. Pushing back he let's go off the wall and jumps down with a huff of annoyance. "It's just not working!"

"Well no, you're still trying to pull yourself up with your arms alone." Pedicone scoots forward and jumps in. "Try again."

Frank groans but gets into position. Once he's hanging off the wall Pedicone steps up behind him.

"All right, see the problem is that you're still relying on your arms alone. You're not using your legs enough. You need to push from here." He puts his hand on the back of Frank's leg. "Really push yourself away from the wall but up at the same time. Does that make sense?"

"Kinda." Nothing makes much sense when Pedicone is this close to him.

"Like this." And now Pedicone's hands are on Frank's hips again like they were the day before, and Frank's mouth goes dry. "Push away from the wall but go like this." He's guiding Frank up and yeah, Frank doesn't have any strength left in his legs to push. Pedicone is turning him into goo. "Then you gotta be quick with your arms, get your elbows up there so you have a good hold to pull yourself up. From there it's just like the normal wall, leg to the side and roll up."

Pedicone let's go and takes a step back and Frank, embarrassingly enough, finds himself pushing back a little in an attempt not to lose contact.

"Try it."

Oh, right. Frank has to try and get out of this trench, not find new ways to press up against Pedicone.

Biting his bottom lip Frank's fingers cramp up more as he holds onto the wall and pushes. At first he thinks he's going to slide off again, but then he manages to get one elbow on the edge.

"Fuck yeah!" Frank's hanging at an awkward angle though and drops back down.

"Almost _almost_ there."

Frank turns and raises an eyebrow at Pedicone, who shrugs and smiles a little sheepishly.

"Well, it's better than almost there, but still not entirely there."

Frank stares for a second longer before he giggles. Pedicone rubs the back of his neck but grins.

"Don't stand around giggling. Get out of the fucking trench, Iero."

Frank's never heard Pedicone giving orders, and even though he says it with a grin it is _doing_ things to Frank's stomach.

"Yes, sir!" He replies with a mock salute and turns to face the wall again. It takes four more tries before Frank manages to get a good hold with both arms and rolls up over the edge. For a few seconds he's completely stunned, lying in the grass and looking up at the darkening sky before he jumps to his feet. "Motherfucking yes! I did it! I fucking did it! Take that, you motherfucking bastard!" He barely manages to keep himself from doing a stupid little victory dance.

Pedicone pulls himself out of the trench and smiles at Frank. "Bravo." He sits down on the edge and looks back at Frank. "Now get back in there."

Frank stops his bouncing around and narrows his eyes. "What?" Way to rain on his parade.

"Back in there, do it again. Just because you've managed to get out once doesn't mean you've mastered it."

"Killjoy." Frank mutters and jumps back into the trench. He totally knows how to do this now and he'll fucking show Pedicone and then laugh at him for doubting Frank.

Only, Frank doesn't make it out of the trench. Which is fucking _impossible_. How can he revert to not making it? Frank cracks his knuckles and digs his thumb into his palm, glares at the wall and tries again. Three tries later he's finally out, breathing heavily and staying sprawled out in the grass.

"Good. Back in." Pedicone lights a cigarette and Frank wants to kick him.

"Again?" He groans and rolls onto his side.

"Yep. Gotta practice until it's perfect."

Frank whines but gets up and back into the trench. His arms hurt and his limbs are heavy, making it practically impossible to heave his weight out of the hole. Eventually he manages, groaning with the effort as he pulls himself up. Frank lies in the grass, his feet still dangling over the edge and focuses on breathing for a little while. Then he rolls onto his back and sits back up.

"I know, I know, back in, right?" Frank sighs, rubbing his face and struggling to his feet. The first try is enough this time for him to know that he won't make it. His arms buckle under his weight after a few second already.

"This is not going to work," Frank pouts and shakes his hands out, flexing his fingers.

"Try it again and if you don't make it I'll help you out."

"What happened to 'don't overdo it'?" Frank pouts, but tries again. As soon as he's got his hands on the wall he knows it's futile. Instead of jumping back down though Frank reaches to the side on a whim and grabs hold of Pedicone's pants.

"Hey, that's cheating!" Pedicone complains, but he's laughing so Frank grins and tries to pull himself up using Pedicone's leg like a ladder. It doesn't work like he thought it would and in the end Pedicone grabs Frank's arms and hauls him up. They land in a heap on the grass, Frank half over Pedicone's chest and well, shit. This isn't something he considered, which is an extreme lack in planning on his part.

"Um." Frank rolls to the side, but his legs are still thrown over Pedicone's lap.

"Guess it really is time to call it a day," Pedicone states and Frank can only nod, because he's scared of what'll happen if he opens his mouth. Either he's going to squeak or say something stupid. Possibly both.

Despite Pedicone's words neither of them moves at first. Then Pedicone sits back up and pats Frank's legs. "C'mon, move. I'm not carrying you back to the recruit barracks."

"What?" Frank mock pouts, glancing up at Pedicone. "How disappointing, there I thought you were a gentleman."

"What, like in 'An Officer and Gentleman'?" Pedicone pushes Frank's legs to the side and stands up, holding out his hand.

"Kinda like that. But without the cheesy music. And I can't sew. At all. So that's not going to work." Frank takes Pedicone's hand and pulls himself up, groaning and shaking his arm out. Fuck, he's hurting all over.

"Take a hot shower tonight."

Frank's mind is exploding into a variety of possible replies, each one more inappropriate than the last.

"Uh, sure. I'll do that."

"You made a lot of progress tomorrow. Just think about that tomorrow morning and don't stress out and you'll be fine."

"Will do," Frank nods again, looking down at the tips of his boots. A blade of grass is stuck to the leather.

"See you tomorrow."

"Yeah. Um. Goodnight." Frank bites his tongue when he realizes that it's kind of a stupid thing to say. He glances up and Pedicone is looking at him with an unreadable expression, something flashing in his eyes that makes Frank's stomach swoop. He bounces on the balls of his feet and is about to lean up and do something really stupid when Pedicone takes a step back.

"Goodnight, Frank."

~

The next morning Frank actually manages to get out of the trench during training. It isn't very graceful and takes longer than he'd like, but Schechter gives him an approving nod and Pedicone a grin and a thumbs up, so Frank totally counts it as a win.

Ian and Brendon clap Frank's shoulder and promptly decide that his mastery of the trench is something that needs to be toasted to on Saturday. Who's Frank to say no to that? He's the Master of the Trench, he's got to drink to that.

Frank's never been to the pub before. He doesn't know what he expected, but it looks like any other pub on the inside and that's maybe just a little unsettling, because a piece of the outside world in the bubble of the barracks is strange at best.

There's a huge flat screen TV on one wall and the soccer game is already going. Frank has no idea who's playing, but the group of men sitting closest to the TV seems really engrossed in the game, yelling at the TV every now and then. There's a few other people scattered around, but overall the pub's not too busy.

"Oh hey, hi Bob!" Ian navigates his way through the pub and plops down in a free chair at a table in the corner. Brendon and Frank follow and Frank almost does a double take when his brain catches up, identifying the people at the table. Schechter, Ray, Bryar, Pedicone and another guy Frank doesn't recognize. He barely dares to sit down, fully expecting to be sent away, but nothing happens.

Frank squirms a little in his chair, watching Ian talking rapidly with Bob about some fancy kind of plane he saw in a magazine or something. Frank had no idea that Ian's interested in that kind of stuff.

He's glad when the waiter comes over because it gives Frank an excuse to look up from the stain on the table he's been starring at. He orders a beer and leans back in his chair, trying to relax. This is supposed to be a good night, one where they have time off, and there is no reason for Frank to be nervous just because he's sitting at a table with his superiors.

"Ian, do you ever shut up? Ever?"

Frank looks up so quickly that he feels dizzy. Did Schechter just call Ian 'Ian'?

"No, not really. Not unless someone makes me," Ian replies and Frank thinks he's kicking Schechter under the table. Has he unknowingly landed himself in the Twilight Zone? Or some alternate universe? Abducted by aliens after all?

"If you spent half as much time on your training as you do on talking nonsense you'd graduate on top of your class," Schechter comments and takes a sip of his Coke.

"C'mon Brian, it's Saturday night. Time to turn the asshole mode off." The guy Frank doesn't know says and slaps Schechter's shoulder.

"Shut up, Zack."

"Not unless Ian does," Zack smirks and high-fives Ian over the table.

"All I wanted to do was come here and watch the game." Brian sighs and shakes his head, running a hand through his already messed-up hair.

"Best laid plans never work out." Pedicone finishes his beer and puts the glass down with an audible clank on the wood. "I'm gonna go have a smoke. Anyone coming?" He looks around the table, gaze lingering on Frank. "Iero?"

Frank's mouth is suddenly terribly dry. "Sure." It comes out all croaky and weird, but Frank is sure that a cigarette is going to help with that. Somehow. The legs of his chair scratch against the hardwood floor as he pushes back and gets up, patting the pockets of his uniform until he finds his battered pack of cigarettes. He ignores the look Ray sends his way and follows Pedicone outside. He's doing well in his training, he doesn't need any shit about smoking every now and then.

"No date with the trench tonight?" Pedicone smirks as they step outside. "She'll miss you. It's not good manners to ditch your girl like that."

Frank rolls his eyes and holds out his lighter for Pedicone, his own cigarette already perched between his lips.

"I'm sure she'll manage. It's not like we had a very loving relationship in the first place."

Pedicone's lips curl into a smile as he leans forward and cups his hand around the lighter, protecting the flame from the wind. The tip of his cigarette glows as he takes his first drag.

"All the best relationships are intense, didn't you know?" Pedicone asks with unconcealed amusement. "You sure had a few very intense days."

"I guess we did. It's time to move on now though. She understands that and is ready to embrace someone else in her stony arms." Frank nods and takes another drag from his cigarette.

"I'm sure she won't have a problem finding someone new. But what about you?"

Frank narrows his eyebrows and exhales smoke through his nose sharply.

"What, you think I got trouble finding someone to hook up with?" He realizes the mistake he's made when Pedicone takes his sweet time looking Frank over, head to toe. Then he takes a drag from his cigarette and when the reply comes it's measured and slow.

"No. No I shouldn't think it's a problem for you. At all."

Frank nearly chokes on his cigarette. What the hell is he supposed to say to that? The air between them is thick with tension. Frank's hands are sweaty and he takes a last drag of his cigarette before he drops the butt and steps on it. When Frank glances up again Pedicone is still looking at him in a way that makes Frank's toes curl. He holds Pedicone's gaze for a few seconds before he impulsively steps forward and goes up on his tiptoes, crashing their lips together.

It's awkward at first because Pedicone doesn't move and he's a solid kind of dude. Frank is starting to regret his bravery when Pedicone suddenly grabs the front of Frank's shirt and steps back, hauling Frank along. Once they're around the corner and out of sight Frank finds himself with his back pressed against the wall and hey, he's not complaining at all. Not when Pedicone is the one doing the pressing him to the wall.

Frank pushes up to get a better angle and Pedicone's fingers twist in his shirt. As far as first kisses go, it's not romantic or any of that shit. It's a little awkward and the angle's still not quite right but it's perfect anyway. Pedicone runs his tongue over Frank's bottom lip and Frank readily parts his lips. Pedicone tastes like the cigarette he just smoked, a hint of beer lingering underneath it. Frank chases the taste and steadies himself by putting his hands on Pedicone's sides.

They stay like that for a while longer, forgetting about the world around them until the illusion is broken by loud cheers carrying out from inside. Both, Frank and Pedicone freeze and reluctantly pull apart, having been violently reminded of where they are.

"Guess someone scored," Frank finally says, unable to keep himself from giggling. His head drops forward against Pedicone's chest and he closes his eyes, laughing helplessly.

"Seems like it," Pedicone agrees, pushing at Frank's head. "Dork."

When Frank looks up Pedicone leans down for another quick kiss before he steps back. "As much as I'd like to continue this, we should get back inside."

Frank remains leaning against the wall, kicks a pebble out of the way and takes a minute to pout. It makes Pedicone laugh, which in turn makes Frank pout harder.

"Hey, I didn't say that we couldn't continue this. Later. Somewhere more private."

"All right." It's a promise that he can live with. Frank pushes away from the wall. He can't help but steal another kiss before he walks back towards the entrance.

Pedicone follows and smacks Frank's ass before shoving his shoulder. No matter what Frank does, he can't get the huge smile on his face to leave, even as they sit back down at the table, where Schechter is desperately starring at the TV screen. Things are not going well for his team, it seems.

Bryar looks just as exasperated, but he's got good reason to because Brendon is monopolizing his time, asking question after question about planes and engines and being a pilot. Next to him Ray is typing away on his phone, not even trying to hide his amusement at Bryar's inability to deal with an overly eager puppy in human form.

When Frank turns he finds Ian looking at him with pursed lips. "That was a long smoke break."

"I wasn't aware that there's a time limit to smoke breaks," Frank retorts, raising an eyebrow at Ian because what the actual fuck? Ian's lips twitch into a grin and he tilts his head at Pedicone and winks.

Frank replies by inclining his head in Schechter's direction and waggling his eyebrows. Ian's smirk is wiped right off his face, replaced by a sheepish smile. It's Frank turn to grin. Ian is going to get so much shit for that later.

They watch the game with varying degrees of interest and a few beers later Frank feels warm and comfortable. He watches Ray explain something to Schechter through heavily-lidded eyes, noting the way Ray's hands settle on Bryar's shoulder every so often, lingering just a tad too long.

Before he can investigate the matter further, a hand lands heavily on his shoulder and Frank forces his head up.

"I think you've had enough for tonight."

"What? No! 'm not drunk," Frank protests, shaking his head and woah, the room is doing crazy things now.

"Of course not. It's still time for Ian and you to go to bed." Pedicone insists, his tone mostly amusement with an undercurrent of authority. Pedicone really should use his voice of authority more often.

Next to him Ian is half asleep with his arms crossed on the table, head resting on them.

"C'mon." Pedicone's chair scrapes against the floor as he stands up. Frank kicks Ian, who sits up far too quickly and looks around completely dazed. Frank cackles and stumbles to his feet. The world isn't too steady today.

"Ian, c'mon. Corporal says we have to go to bed." Frank slaps his hand over his mouth and giggles again. He'd like the Corporal to put him to bed.

Pedicone rolls his eyes at Ian and Frank, stumbling around like ruffled kittens, and nods at the people remaining at the table.

"I'll make sure these two find their way back to the right house. See you guys later."

Frank raises his hand and wiggles his fingers when there's a chorus of 'goodnights' all around. On the way outside Ian stumbles and nearly falls and for some reason it's really fucking funny.

"Dude! Dude, you're so drunk!" Frank points his finger at Ian, who's frowning at the ground as if it personally insulted him.

"Definitely time for the two of you to go to bed." Pedicone grabs the back of Ian's shirt with one hand and Frank's elbow with the other, steering them in the right direction.

"He's the drunk one! You oughta help him, not me," Frank protests as he stumbles along. His tongue is kind of heavy in his mouth and he moves it around experimentally, running it over his teeth.

"You oughta stop yelling," Ian mutters and oh, Frank hadn't realized that. He keeps quiet the rest of the way back, but when he trips over the threshold another giggle comes over Frank's lips. Sneaking around in the dark makes him feel like a teenager all over again. Only, he isn't trying to smuggle Pedicone into his room, which is a shame. Frank would've liked smuggling Pedicone into his room and having secret sex where they need to be all quiet.

"Get in."

Pedicone opens the door to Ian's and Frank's room and waves them in. Most of the guys have gone home for the weekend, so it's only be Brendon inside who went home earlier, and they don't have to worry about him because he regularly sleeps through the reveille.

Ian stumbles past Pedicone and makes a beeline for the bed, flumping down with a groan and his shoes still on.

"Ian, are you tired?" Frank only gets a groan in reply, which makes him giggle again. Seriously, he should look into alcohol-related giggling. He'll google that tomorrow.

"You should go to bed as well." Pedicone puts his hand on the small of Frank's back and pushes.

"Yeah. Yeah you know what?" Frank grins and grabs the front of Pedicone's shirt, attempting to pull him into the room. "You should come to bed with me." Which is the lamest line ever, but at this point Frank doesn't care. Pedicone's been there for his battle against the trench, he knows exactly how lame Frank is.

"As much as I'd like to, I don't think that's a good idea." Pedicone replies, trying to get Frank to let go off his shirt.

"It's a brilliant idea!"

"Shhhhh!" Pedicone shushes him and Frank snaps his mouth shut. He's apparently unable to handle the concept of indoor voices today. Maybe he should continue to deny the existence of that concept just to see what Pedicone's going to do to shut him up.

Frank doesn't need to go that far, because Pedicone leans down and kisses him hard, pushing him against the door frame. Frank's beginning to think that he's won and won't be going to bed alone, but then Pedicone pulls back and gives Frank a nudge into the room.

"Night, Frank."

He's gone before Frank gets a proper chance to pout.

~

Frank has completely forgotten about the week of outdoor training. Which wouldn't be so bad, if it didn't mean that he has to pack on Sunday when all he wants to do is curl up in bed and sleep away his hangover. It also means that for an entire week he won't get any alone time with Pedicone, which sucks. Their relationship is too young and too frail for them to be apart and not have awesome sex.

Getting on the bus stupidly early on Monday morning, Frank is grumpy and ready to punch the first person that dares to speak to him. He ignores Schechter who's counting the people on the bus and curls up in his seat, stubbornly staring out the window. It's dark outside, that's how fucking early it is. Frank pulls his shoulders up, wraps his jacket tighter around his body and closes his eyes. He might as well get a little more sleep before they are thrown out of the bus in the middle of nowhere.

Usually Frank is able to fall asleep anywhere, but this morning he only manages to doze for a few minutes here and there. The rest of the time he's painfully aware of the rumbling bus engine, the guys behind him discussing who's the better Bond Girl, Hayley or Eva, and Ian snoring next to him. Frank's got sleep envy.

When the bus slows down Frank blinks his eyes open and looks around groggily. He's feeling worse than before. From what Frank can see through the windows, they are surrounded by nature. Nature and nothing but nature. It's disgusting and Frank refuses to think about the amount of spiders out there, waiting to get him.

Once the bus is parked in literally the middle of nowhere (Frank was at least expecting a campsite) and all of them are outside the driver gets their backpacks from the luggage compartment and exchanges a few more words with Schechter, before he drives away. Frank starts wistfully at the bus disappearing in the distance, trying not to feel like he's being abandoned.

Frank groans and hoists his backpack up. He always feels ridiculous wearing that thing, because it's nearly as tall as he is. Schechter leads them to a clearing where they're supposed to put up the tents.

"We're nice and let you do this on even ground. Should you ever find yourself in an unfortunate situation where you have to camp out unexpectedly, look for a spot that is secluded and as even as possible. Don't put up your tent in the middle of a clearing just because it is nice and easy. Chances are, if you're out there and you have to make camp, you want to avoid being spotted by anyone at all costs." Schechter drones on about where to seek shelter, but Frank's already zoned out. It's far too early to be listening to this. Besides, Frank doubts that he's ever going to seek shelter outside. Even if he has to walk all night, he's not going to sleep in spider-infested surroundings if he can help it.

When everyone starts moving Frank snaps out of his thoughts and stumbles along, glancing over at Ian with his eyebrows raised.

"Putting up tents in pairs," Ian explains. Frank pulls a face. He'd take the trench over this any given day.

As it turns out, Frank is even more useless at putting up a tent than he is at getting out of a trench. Half an hour later most tents around them at least look vaguely tent-shaped. Ian's and Frank's tent is still a lump and they're both frowning at it, trying to convince it to put itself together with the united power of their minds.

"It moved! I swear, it moved!" Ian points at the tent, eyes wide.

"Nah, that was just the wind," Frank shakes his head sadly. "We fail."

"A lot," Ian sighs. "I'm doing this for the second time, you'd assume I knew how it works."

"Well, why don't you?" Frank asks, balling his hands into fists because his fingers are twitching. He wants a cigarette.

"I fail," Ian points out again, groaning. "I'm not made for this."

"C'mon, you'll be fine. Not like I can do it either."

"Iero! Crawford! Once your little gossip session is done, how about you do some actual work?"

Frank flinches at Schechter's voice booming behind them.

"What exactly is this supposed to be?" Schechter eyes the lump on the ground before his eyes cut back to Ian and Frank.

"A . . . tent?" Ian replies slowly, and it's like he's throwing steaks at Schechter. If Schechter was a lion, that is. Frank feels that it is a somewhat appropriate comparison.

"A tent." Schechter's lips purse and he's wearing his trademark Crawford-is-an-idiot expression. "I see. Since the two of you are apparently only capable of standing around uselessly and nothing else, Crawford is going to work with me. Iero, over to Corporal Pedicone."

Frank stares at Schechter for a few seconds and then pulls a face, trying not to let on that motherfucking _yes_ , he's won the jackpot.

"Yes, sir," he mutters and shuffles over to where Pedicone is helping another recruit, who's struggling with the stakes of his tent. Pedicone glances up when Frank stops a few feet away.

"Yes?"

"Staff Sergeant Schechter seems to be under the impression that I'm lacking tent building skills and you can help me with that. Sir." Frank adds, trying to keep a straight face. Pedicone does a much better job and actually looks a little annoyed. It's confusing, but Frank decides to go with the assumption that Mike is just a good actor.

"Go get started then," Pedicone nods at the tent that's still bundled up. "I'll see how you're doing when we're finished here."

It's not quite what Frank expected, but he shuffles over and stares at the tent. He's got no idea where to start, so he randomly tries to assemble bits and pieces together. Do they buy these things at IKEA? Why do they not come with instructions?

"That's all?"

Frank looks up when a shadow falls over him. Pedicone is looking at the sad lump that is supposed to be a tent, lips twisted.

"Told you I wasn't good at this," Frank mutters, dropping the stakes he was holding back to the ground.

"You'll have to learn then. It's one of the things that'll come in handy." Pedicone takes the stakes and puts them aside.

"Like climbing out of trenches?" Frank asks, ripping out a few blades of grass and peering at Pedicone from under the brim of his hat, trying to gauge if he's really annoyed with Frank. To Frank's relief he cracks a smile and says "Yeah, kinda like that."

Once Pedicone's sorted out the mess Frank made he sits down in the grass and lights a cigarette. "Put it up then."

Frank stares at him and Pedicone raises an eyebrow, exhaling smoke through his nose.

"Um. Me?" Frank asks and gestures helplessly at the tent. This day isn't turning out how he'd imagined it at all.

"Well, I know how to put up a tent," Pedicone replies with a smirk that Frank wants to wipe off his face. "I'll give you instructions though."

Frank bites his bottom lip and gives himself a mental shoulder pat because he manages not to say anything about different kinds of instructions he'd like to get. "Fine," he grumbles instead and sets to work while Pedicone smokes and tells him what to do. Frank feels utterly clumsy and he's fairly certain that he'd only drop things half as often if Pedicone wasn't watching him so closely. Frank can't even pay him back because there is no way to look sexy while struggling with a giant piece of fabric that is supposedly a tent.

Twenty minutes later Frank is sweaty and grumpy, but the tent is starting to take shape.

"It's not all that difficult, is it?" Pedicone asks and has the nerve to laugh when Frank glares at him.

"It's shit. If I had to rely on building a tent in the wilderness for protection, wolves would eat me."

"If wolves wanted to eat you they'd eat you anyway. The tent'd just be a tortilla wrap around you," Pedicone points out and he's so fucking amused that Frank wants to kick him.

"You know what I mean," he grumps, tying one of the ropes around the stake in the ground.

Pedicone hums in what Frank guesses is agreement and gets up, tying the ropes tighter where Frank put them too loose and doing other little magic tricks that transform Frank's average tent into a really posh tent.

Frank flops down in the grass with relief. Fucking finally. Seriously, as soon as he thinks he's managed all the obstacles in his way, they throw a fucking new thing in his face that he fails at. Maybe this really is the wrong career for him. Before he gets too much of a chance to ponder that thought, though, Schechter calls all of them over. Frank was the last one to finish and everybody's been waiting just for him. Brilliant.

"Tents look good for the most part," Schechter nods, though he doesn't seem entirely satisfied. Then again, he never does and Frank thinks he should start dropping hints about Schechter spending some quality time with his right hand.

"Now backpacks on and formation."

Frank groans. Not even five minutes to relax and recharge. He's still tired and simple movements are difficult enough. Moving with a backpack that has 15 kilograms equals a nightmare right now. They have to carry all of their gear around with them and Frank understands the reason behind it, this is supposed to prepare them for real life situations, only these real life situations seem so far away.

With a sigh Frank hoists his backpack up and over his shoulders and puts on the steel helmet they're required to wear. It's another one of those stupid things that totally make sense in the right context, but not when you're marching through a forest in the middle of nowhere where the helmet doesn't serve any protection purposes but is a pain in the ass. Frank has to push it back every few minutes because it keeps slipping down over his forehead.

They march through the forest for hours and at times Frank doubts that Schechter has a destination in mind. He picks the most difficult ways and if Frank has to climb another hill with the stupid backpack and helmet on he's going to cry. His entire body hurts, muscles he didn't know he had protest. He's dripping with sweat when Schechter finally calls for a halt and announces a ten minute rest. It's a small consolation that he looks sweaty and sounds a little out of breath as well. People like Schechter probably do this for fun.

Frank contemplates falling backwards and sprawling out for ten minutes, but he's got a feeling that he'll be like a turtle on its back, unable to get up. With a groan he moves to shrug his backpack off.

"Don't do that, man," Ian gasps, looking up at Frank from where he's bent over, hands on his knees. "It'll only get worse when you have to put it back on again."

"You did learn something last time around after all. Sergeant Schechter's gonna be ecstatic to hear that." Pedicone pats Ian's shoulder, almost causing him to topple over, before moving to check on Brendon, who's looking rather pale.

Frank takes another sip from his bottle of water. It takes a lot of restraint not to gulp it all down in one go.

"If you've done this once, why the fuck would you wanna do it again?" He asks Ian once he feels that his lungs are working properly again. He almost wishes that he had had Ray write him a note stating that his lungs are not made for this.

"Dunno." Ian shrugs and drags his hand over his face, wiping away some of the sweat. "It was really shitty when I didn't pass last year, but I didn't wanna give up, you know? It was making a career here or working at a gas station forever. Becoming a pilot totally beats the gas station."

Frank nods and before they have a chance to discuss future plans further Schechter gives marching orders again and Frank needs all his energy to put one foot in front of the other.

~

By the time they get back to the camp the sun is setting and Frank is sure that instead of feet he's got bloody stumps. Every step he has to take is one step too much. He doesn't care for any orders Schechter might still give and makes a beeline for the tent he put up with Pedicone earlier, dropping his backpack and flopping down on the ground. He's not going to be able to ever move again. Maybe he can talk Pedicone into carrying him into the tent later on.

A few feet away Brendon is curled up on the ground, backpack still on, and Ian is trying to get him to drink something. Brendon flails around and manages to get himself into a position where he can drink and not choke on the water.

Frank just sits there for a while without moving, his eyelids growing heavier and heavier. At one point he seems to have fallen asleep sitting up, because the next thing Frank knows is flinching violently when something touches his shoulder. He blinks hard a couple of times to get his eyes to focus.

"No falling asleep yet, Iero. Food first." Schechter pats Frank's shoulder before he moves on and Frank stares at nothing in particular for a few seconds before he looks around for his backpack. He groans when his muscles strain and protest. Every little movement hurts and he's got no idea how he is supposed to walk around for hours again tomorrow. He isn't even particularly hungry, but he knows that Schechter's right and he needs to eat.

Observing the contents of the food bag Frank picks out a sandwich and an apple. At least the army's trying to keep them healthy by supplying fruit. He would've preferred a huge bar of chocolate.

Frank takes his time eating. Even chewing is too much of an effort. The others are eating or just sitting around in groups, talking, and Frank decides that he doesn't give a fuck if Schechter has more evil plans for the night. After stuffing the empty food wrappers back into his backpack Frank crawls into the tent and flops down on the sleeping bag that he thankfully rolled out before they left for the march.

He could fall asleep like this but his feet hurt and he forces himself back up and takes his shoes off. He then proceeds with his socks, hissing when the material gets unstuck from his skin where blisters opened and wept. It's disgusting and Frank chucks his socks to the side. He might as well burn them. Wriggling his toes, Frank decides that he can always take care of his feet in the morning and flops back down. Barely a minute later he's fast asleep.

~

Frank groans when something scratches on the edges of his consciousness, trying to drag him away from the depths of sleep. He curls up a little more because he's cold but moving to get into his sleeping bag rather than lying atop of it is not an option. There's movement nearby, the sound of a zipper. Frank hadn't even bothered to close the tent before.

He blinks his eyes open and it takes a few seconds before his sluggish brain kicks in. There's a flashlight on the ground, providing a little bit of light in the otherwise dark tent. Mike moves around, putting his boots away and looking for something in his backpack.

"Wha's the time?" Frank rasps, knuckling at his eyes.

"Close to midnight." Mike sits down on his sleeping bag and pulls his shirt over his head. Frank definitely appreciates the sight, eyes raking over naked skin and the shadows of tattoos. "You feeling okay?" Mike glances over at Frank, reaching for his bottle of water.

"Yeah. Just tired." Frank kicks his legs a little and tries to get them into the sleeping bag.

"Doin' better than some then. Spent the evening playing nurse."

"That bad?" Frank curls his toes and sighs softly. Now that he's awake he notices how uncomfortable he is, sprawled out in his clothes, but he still can't be bothered to move.

"Nothing unusual," Mike replies and puts the water away. "Some just don't take proper care of themselves, not drinking enough, and some are just," he shrugs, making clear that he doesn't think all of the recruits will make it through core training. "You should change."

Frank grumbles and turns his head into the sleeping bag. "Too tired. Don' wanna move."

"You'll regret it tomorrow morning."

Frank weakly tries to squirm away when Mike pulls him up. "And while you do that, how 'bout you tell me how you managed to talk Schechter into switching tents." Mike's voice is a strange mix of amused and annoyed.

"I didn't do anything," he protests, pulling a face as he sits up. "Ian's just to stupid to put up a tent and Schechter got all annoyed about it and said I should go work with you." He shrugs and unzips his jacket.

"Ah. Now that's interesting." Mike's smirking, but when it comes to Schechter and Ian everybody is reduced to smirking or eye rolling, or a combination of both.

Frank squirms out of his jacket and puts it somewhere behind him.

"Your clothes are going to be disgusting in the morning," Mike comments. All of his stuff is neatly folded.

"They're gonna be disgusting either way," Frank points out, looking down at his t-shirt and sighing. Taking it off means lifting his arms, which already feels like something he shouldn't be doing.

"It's part of the mandatory program for the week. Get as disgusting as possible." Mike laughs and moves over, tugging Frank's shirt up. "C'mon, don't be so whiny."

"I'm not whiny," Frank mumbles, his words drowned in his t-shirt when Mike pulls it over his head. "Just an evil genius."

Mike raises an eyebrow. He's close enough that Frank doesn't have to move much in order to kiss him. It's a little awkward at first because they haven't exactly acknowledged what happened the other night, but Mike goes with the kiss readily enough that Frank relaxes.

He sinks back down onto the sleeping bag when Mike leans in, pulling him along with a hand in his neck. Frank had been cold before but Mike is nice and warm above him and Frank makes a content sound in the back of his throat and hooks his foot over Mike's ankle. Mike's got himself propped up with his elbows on either side of Frank's face and Frank's pretty sure that otherwise he'd get squashed. It's ridiculous how differently they are built.

Frank's teeth scrape over Mike's bottom lip and his fingers dig into his side. He's quite content to fall into the kiss for a while, but eventually there is no denying that Frank wants Mike to stop hovering and pin him down and do all kinds of things that they most likely can't do in a tent. He makes a low, whiny sound.

"You're lazy and demanding, you know that?" Mike mumbles and Frank grins and turns his head a little, smushing their noses together even more.

"Yep. You complaining?"

Mike grumbles something and Frank takes it as a 'no' when he moves to press his lips to the corner of Frank's mouth and moves down, teeth scraping over Frank's jaw. He's got just the right amount of stubble, prickling and scratching over Frank's skin. He knows Mike won't be leaving any marks, can't leave marks, and it's a shame, really. They'll have to make up for that later.

Mike pulls back and runs a hand down over Frank's chest. It's too dark in the tent to make out the designs of his tattoos properly, everything turning into dancing shadows in the flashlight. Mike traces the 'AND' on Frank's stomach with his index finger. Frank's breath hitches before he giggles, stomach muscles contracting.

"How the hell did you get tattooed there if you're this ticklish?" Mike asks, eyes flickering up to Frank's face.

"Dunno. I can be very stoic," Frank replies. Mike's thumb traces the 'A' and Frank giggles again.

"Sure." Even in the dark Frank can tell that Mike is grinning.

"I totally can be," he mumbles stubbornly. Mike doesn't say anything but scoots down a little further and then he's tracing the letters of Frank's tattoo with his tongue and _fuck_ , Frank's got all the conflicting feelings in the world. He kind of giggles like an idiot because he's still ticklish, but at the same time his breathing hitches and he ends up making a garbled sound.

"Shhhhh." Mike's breath puffs against his damp skin and Frank shivers, catching his bottom lip between his teeth. He's painfully aware all of a sudden that they are in a tent, surrounded by the thinnest walls ever. Frank is a vocal person, but the thought of having to keep quiet makes his already hard dick twitch.

Mike moves back up and presses a hard kiss to Frank's lips. His hand cups Frank through his pants and Frank's hips jerk up in response.

"You gonna keep quiet?" Mike mumbles, palming Frank.

"Ngh." Frank squirms and tries to get more friction, nodding absently-minded. He'll totally keep quiet if Mike continues, but if he stops Frank can't guarantee that he's not going to scream in frustration. Mike squeezes Frank's cock and it takes all his willpower to suppress a moan. Apparently that makes him pass the test because Mike sits back and undoes Frank's belt und pants, tugging.

"Up."

Frank's muscles strain as he digs his heels in and lifts his hips so Mike can pull his pants down. He flops back down with a low groan that turns into a yelp when Mike's fingers dig into the inside of his thighs where the muscles are knotted.

"Quiet," he mumbles and digs his fingers in even more.

"Fuck you," Frank gasps out because it hurts. But then Mike rubs his fingers in a circular motion before dragging them up and down in firm strokes. Frank can feel his muscles loosening up and it makes everything feel even better. Mike's hands smooth down over Frank's legs one final time, wrapping around Frank's ankles briefly, before he lets go and shuffles further forward on his knees again.

"C'mon," Frank presses out through clenched teeth.

"Demanding." Frank can still hear the smirk in Mike's voice. Fuck him, if he wants to play games that Frank has no patience for. Running his hand down over his stomach he wraps it around his cock and it's fucking bliss. It only lasts for a few seconds though because Frank's barely fisted his cock when his hand is slapped away.

"Nu-uh, not how this goes."

Frank growls in the back of his throat, but before he can give Mike a piece of his mind hot breath ghosts over the head of his cock, temporarily robbing him of the ability of making any sounds at all. Mike's hand wraps around the base of Frank's cock and his lips over the tip and Frank has to press his hand over his lips to muffle the noises he can't hold back. Mike takes more of him in and it takes all of Frank's strength to stay still. The muscles in his thighs twitch and the palm of his hand is damp from his heavy breathing. Mike's mouth is hot and perfect around him and he hollows his cheeks and does this thing with his tongue and _oh_.

Frank pulls his legs up and digs his heels into the ground. It's like there is a battle going on in side him, one part letting loose and bursting into a swirl of pleasure while the other stays grounded and in control with the need to remain as quiet as possible.

After a while Frank's making low sounds in the back of his throat anyway, keening into the palm of his hand despite his best efforts. Mike's tongue presses against the underside of Frank's dick and drags up maddeningly slow. Frank's hips jerk up. Mike's doing all the right things to have him where he wants him and Frank is so close already.

He presses his hand harder over his mouth, gasping when Mike's head bobs down again. A few more drags of his chapped lips, up and down, and Frank's back is arching and he's biting the palm of his hand as he comes down Mike's throat. He's not quite sure if he actually manages to keep quiet because for a few seconds Frank's too busy basking in bliss to give a damn. He gasps against the damp palm of his hand when Mike drags his tongue over the head of Frank's cock and pulls off.

Frank's hands flail around, but Mike seems to get the point anyway because he's kissing Frank again a few seconds later, one hand on Frank's hip, holding him down. Frank hums and pushes his tongue into Mike's mouth, chasing the taste of himself. When he feels like his limbs are working properly again Frank drags his hands down Mike's back, short nails scratching over skin. It's Mike's turn to make a needy sound and even though it gets swallowed up in the kiss Frank can't help but pull back and grin.

"Shhhhhh."

That elicits a groan from Mike and he drops his forehead to Frank's shoulder. "You're such a brat, know that?" he mutters and bites Frank's shoulder.

"Been told so on several occasions," Frank whispers back cheerfully and grips Mike's hips, pushing to try and get him to move up a little so he can reach between them and undo Mike's pants. Once belt, button and zip are undone Frank doesn't waste time and shoves his hand down Mike's briefs. Mike's hard and hot in his hand and his hips jerk forward when Frank thumbs over the head of his cock, spreading some of the precum. It's far from the best position or angle, but it's not like they're going for perfect here. Mike presses his face into the crook of Frank's neck, all the sounds leaving his lips muffled in the skin there. He shifts to get more friction and his hand presses down harder on Frank's hip. They really need to do this in a proper bed soon, where they can actually move without taking the tent down.

Mike gets more restless and Frank twists his hand, alternating between slow and fast strokes. Mike's breath is hot against his neck and Frank shivers, tilting his head further to the side. He can tell it when Mike's close because his body goes tense. His hips stutter forward as Mike comes over Frank's hand. Frank strokes him a few more times with increasingly loose grip before he lets go, pulling a face. Damn, they don't have a shower here. Mike's breathing is still labored but his body is relaxed and Frank curls into the warmth with a satisfied grunt. His hand is sticky and he brings it up to his mouth, going about licking his fingers clean. Man's gotta do what a man's gotta do, right? Not that he's complaining anyway.

Frank pulls his index finger out of his mouth with an audible 'pop' and Mike turns his head slightly. He licks the corner of Frank's lips and kisses him before he moves to get up and Frank makes a noise of protest, wrapping his arms around Mike's middle.

"We can't go to sleep like that," Mike points out.

"I'm perfectly comfortable. And warm," Frank points out innocently.

"Brat," Mike mutters and reaches over to pull the second sleeping bag closer. They don't have a blanket and the sleeping bags only fit one person, but they manage to get as comfortable as possible by unzipping the sleeping bags and wrap up in them.

Frank's still aching and tired, but he's also warm and comfortable, which totally makes up for it. Maybe he'll make it through core training after all if he's got rewards like this waiting.

~

It's far too early when the alarm on Mike's mobile goes off and Frank groans and buries more into Mike's side, intent on ignoring it for as long as possible. Mike shifts until he finds his phone and presumably turns the alarm off because there's blissful silence again.

"Time to get up." Mike's voice is all rough and scratchy in the morning.

"Uh-huh," he presses closer, fingers stroking down Mike's side. Apparently tents are not a place for morning sex either, because Mike only gives him a close-lipped kiss before he stands up. Tents are stupid fucking cockblocks.

With a sigh Frank rolls onto his back and blinks his eyes open. The stiff muscles from the night before have turned into full on muscle soreness and Frank never, ever wants to move again.

"It's only going to get worse the longer you lie there." Mike's holding his hand out and Frank takes it and let's himself be hoisted up.

"This is torture," He groans, briefly leaning into Mike.

"Only four days to go, you'll manage." Mike wraps his arm around Frank's side and squeezed lightly before he lets go. His eyes linger on Frank for a few seconds, tracing the tattoos on his arms and stomach, then he turns away and digs through his backpack. "I think you should spend the weekend at mine."

It's so nonchalant that Frank doesn't give an answer for a few seconds while his brain catches up.

"Um. Sure," he replies eventually, trying to sound just as casual and bite down on a grin. With a prospect like that in his future he might survive four more days.

Frank keeps the sleeping bag wrapped around himself as he sits up and wrinkles his nose. Getting back into yesterday's clothes isn't the most appealing prospect, but they each only got two pairs of field uniforms, so he can't change already. Frank manages to get his backpack close enough that he can get a new pair of briefs out and puts them on. Getting dressed in the small tent isn't easy. Nothing is, tents fucking suck.

Frank's putting band-aids on the blisters on his feet when a dark spot on one of the tent walls catches his eyes. It's a spider. A very large spider. Frank's mouth goes dry.

"Uh. Mike? Hey. There's a spider there."

Mike fails to see the urgency of the situation and grunts.

"I'm not kidding. There's a huge spider there." Frank keeps his eyes trained on the beast. It looks ready to attack.

"So? There's spiders everywhere here."

Thank you very much, so far Frank had managed to forget about the spiders. He gropes around blindly behind him. Mike is not going to help him, so he has to take matters into his own hands. The first thing Frank grabs happens to be Mike's boot and Frank hauls it at the spider. It hits the wall and the entire tent shakes, but the spider crawls off unharmed. Fuck. Frank scrambles and grabs Mike's other boot, bringing it down with all the force he can muster. That motherfucker is not going to crawl into his backpack. Frank puts in all his weight and grinds the boot into the ground, just to make sure the damn thing is dead. Leaning back he lifts the shoe carefully and pulls a face at the squished remains of the spider.

"Did you just get dead spider all over my shoe?"

Frank looks over his shoulder at Mike with wide eyes. "What? You said they were everywhere anyway, so I figured it wouldn't matter."

"Of course." Mike shakes his head and takes his shoes back from Frank. "Are you feeling better now?"

"Yes," Frank hisses, glaring at the remains of spider. Maybe the corpse is going to be a warning for all the other spiders out there and they'll stay away.

"Good." Mike's puts his shoes on and gets his toothbrush, unzipping the tent as he waits for Frank to get his things together.

The sun is just about to rise but the camp's already buzzing with activity as everyone tries to get their things together, brush their teeth and locate a magic source of coffee.

Frank stumbles to his feet and stretches with a soft moan.

"Dude, wha' 'he fuck were ya doin'?" Ian strolls up, talking around his toothbrush. Momentarily panic sets in because fuck, Ian totally heard them last night.

"Frank had a little scuffle with a spider." Mike jumps in and Frank looks between them before it clicks.

"Yeah, it was huge, man!" It sounds stupid, even to his own ears, and Frank quickly squeezed toothpaste onto his toothbrush and shoves it into his mouth so he won't have to talk anymore.

When he's done brushing his teeth Ian hands him a bottle of water so Frank can rinse and spit the rest of toothpaste into the grass. Brushing your teeth surrounded by nature is somewhat gross.

Frank still doesn't feel ready to face the day but he's got no choice but to put the backpack back on. Today they have to split up in groups and every group is given a map, setting off into different directions. They have to reach a destination and overcome obstacles on the way and it's bloody exhausting. Reading a map and not losing orientation in the forest is hard enough without climbing around in the wilderness, and the pointers they find along the way are not very helpful.

Frank's aching all over when they finally make it back to camp and he's sure that he won't survive three more days. He's going to die, surrounded by nature and spiders.

Frank doesn't die in the end, but he has several more unpleasant encounters with spiders. He never thought he'd say that, but Frank's glad to see the barracks. The first thing he does is take the longest and most orgasmic shower in the history of showers. After five days of only washing himself with bottled water a shower is better than sex. Or, well, close to being as awesome as sex.

That night Frank falls into his bed, freshly showered, and falls asleep the moment his head hits the pillow. Actual beds and showers are the best things in the world.

~

Frank takes another drag from his cigarette and looks up and down the street. Mike's picking him up a few blocks away from the barracks, so chances of them being seen together are small. While Mike's still his supervisor they have to be careful about those things.

He takes a last drag of his cigarette before he flicks the butt to the ground and grinds it out with the tip of his Converse. It feels strange to wear normal clothes after weeks in uniform. Frank isn't quite sure how to hold himself in them.

He hoists his backpack up higher when a car approaches the bus stop and grins when he spots Mike behind the wheel, wearing sunglasses. Frank gets in the passenger seat when the car comes to a stop.

"You're late. Thought people in the army were all about being punctual."

Mike's eyebrows rise behind his sunglasses as he pulls back onto the road. "I'm not Brian."

"Thank fuck you're not, that'd be scary." Frank puts his seatbelt on and turns, taking his time to study Mike. It's the first time he sees him out of uniform, which shouldn't be weird but it kind of is. Mike's wearing a pair of jeans and a white tank top that puts his tattoos on display, finally allowing Frank to take a closer look at them. He taps his fingers on his thighs in time with the song on the radio.

"Recovered from the week already?" Mike asks, glancing over at Frank.

"Eh," Frank scrunches up his nose. "I'm hurting in places that I shouldn't even know existed."

Mike snorts. "Schechter was being nice. Imagine how much you'd hurt if he'd been in a bad mood."

"He was only in a good mood because Ian managed to get himself lost in the woods and he got to go look for him," Frank replies with a grin. Schechter had looked even more flustered than usual by the time he had dragged Ian back to the camp.

"Possibly," Mike drawls. "Whatever keeps him happy, be glad. Last year we had to drive a few recruits back in the middle of the week because they quit."

"What, seriously? Because of Schechter?" Sure, he's harsh, but he's also an all right guy, or at least Frank thinks he is.

"Partly. They weren't cut out for the job and you could tell. Schechter only helped the process along a little. Didn't take any shit from them." Mike parks the car in front of an apartment complex and it puts an end to their conversation.

Mike's apartment is on the sixth floor and it's light and spacious. Frank drops his backpack on the floor and wanders into the living room. It's clean but well lived-in and he feels comfortable instantly, flopping down on the couch. "Man, you've got a TV. I haven't watched TV in ages." Not that Frank plans on watching much TV this weekend, but it's worth pointing out that he _could_ if he wanted to. Frank's got everything he needs at the barracks but this is what comfort feels like.

"You know what else I have? A proper bed. A big one," Mike says casually, leaning against the doorframe.

Frank breaks into a grin. With rewards like that he's going to graduate on top of his class.

~

Lighting a cigarette Frank rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. He's never liked Sunday nights particularly much. He likes them even less now, because it means that tomorrow morning he'll have to get out of bed and leave Mike's, go back to his routine.

Frank would very much like for reality to piss off and leave him alone. It's been a great weekend, mostly spent in Mike's bed, and he'd like for that good feeling to last, but the flashes of anxiety and insecurity just won't go away.

"So," Frank scratches his stomach and exhales slowly. "This how it's going to be then?"

"Hm?" Mike turns his head and blinks sleepily at Frank. "Watcha mean?"

"Just," Frank shrugs and takes another drag from his cigarette, taking his time to find the right words. "Us, I mean. As much as there is an us, or whatever."

"I don't think I understand the problem." Mike rubs his face and he appears a little more awake when he looks back at Frank.

The problem is, Frank doesn't know what the problem is exactly himself. He just feels. . . off.

"You just gonna invite me back here when you want some weekend fun?" Frank exhales sharply and determinedly doesn't look at Mike.

"Don't be an asshole, Frank."

The mattress dips when Mike shifts closer and plucks the cigarette from Frank's fingers, taking a drag himself.

"I'm not." Frank sounds petulant, even to his own ears, and he closes his eyes and silently counts to ten.

"You're not expecting me to go around the barracks holding hands with you, do you?"

Frank scrunches his nose up and shakes his head. "Hell no."

"Well then, where's the problem?"

Frank shrugs because he still doesn't have an answer.

"I won't be your supervisor in a few weeks time anymore. Things'll ease up a little then," Mike points out, reaching over Frank to stub the cigarette out in the ashtray on the nightstand.

"I know," Frank mutters, smiling a little after all.

Mike looks down at him thoughtfully. "Usually I don't help anyone out of the trench, you know?"

Frank's hand moves to Mike's neck and he presses his fingers in a little, trying to get him to move down. "You better not."

Mike rolls his eyes but when he kisses Frank it's the kind of possessive kiss Frank needs.

~

The uniform feels starch and strange against his skin, but the leather boots are well worn and comfortable on his feet. He bounces on the balls of his feet as he waits in formation with the other graduates. The bleachers that have been put up on the parade ground for today are already filled with parents and friends, and Frank wonders where his family is sitting. Frank is more excited about seeing them than about the ceremony. It feels like he can finally stand up straight when he looks at his grandfather because he's accomplished something. Frank isn't a highschool dropout anymore. He's a fucking Lance Corporal. He's not bumming around at home, strumming his guitar and getting nostalgic for the days when he thought that he'd get to live the rock'n'roll dream. Instead he's looking at possible career paths and a year stationed abroad. Frank's doing something with his life and it feels awesome.

"Attention!" It's not Schechter leading them out today but one of the higher ups, a lieutenant Frank has only seen around briefly every now and then. The supervisors are already at the parade ground and Frank only caught a brief glimpse of Mike in his dress uniform. He's looking forward to getting to admire that view properly.

"Closed Order, March!"

Their group starts to move, signaling the start of the ceremony. It's the same as most ceremonies – dull and boring despite the initial excitement. Frank has to pull together all his willpower to keep from shifting and bouncing on the balls of his feet. The sun's shining today and he's sweating underneath his uniform and the tip of his nose is _itching_. All Frank dares to do is scrunch it up a little, which brings no relief at all.

Frank breathes a sigh of relief when the ceremony is over, people spreading out and family swarming from their position on the bleachers to hunt down their loved ones for the inventible picture marathon. Predictably it doesn't take long for his mother to find him and Frank's swiped up in a hug that nearly takes him off his feet before he even gets to say hello.

"I'm so proud of you."

Frank would be embarrassed if it weren't for all the other recruits going through exactly the same thing. A few meters away Frank can see Ian having to pose with his sister, who's on the hunt for a perfect Facebook profile picture.

His mother is fussing and plucking invisible pieces of lint from the sleeve of Frank's uniform.

"Linda, leave the boy alone already." Frank's grandfather gently pulls her aside before he pulls Frank into a quick hug.

"Well done, my boy."

"Thanks, grandpa." Frank's shoulders relax and he hasn't even noticed just how tense he was. It feels like deep within he's still a little boy, desperate for his family's approval. He hasn't done a lot to make his mother or his grandpa proud these past few years.

When his mother takes her camera out of her purse Frank groans, which earns him a laugh and a slap on the back from his grandfather. "Didn't honestly think you could skip that part, did you?"

Frank pulls a face. "One can always hope."

He grins awkwardly at the camera as his mother takes picture after picture. Frank isn't sure why she needs that many pictures that are going to look the same, but he's learned long ago not to question it.

Catching movement from the corners of his eyes Frank turns his head slightly and spots Schechter and Pedicone walking past. Schechter nods at Frank and if Frank squints hard enough he'd think that Brian's actually smiling.

"Lance Corporal Iero," Mike inclines his head in greeting and winks.

Frank's grin widens.


End file.
